


Bionic Heart

by esteefee



Series: Black Widow [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-16
Updated: 2011-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-14 20:04:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some parts cannot be replaced, they can only heal with care.  Rodney tries a hand at the soft sciences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bionic Heart

**Author's Note:**

> John is hurt based on canon McKay/Keller and the events of Black Widow and asks Rodney to think and work for it.

The human heart, Rodney decided at the tender age of thirty-nine, was a perverse, ridiculous and outdated organ. Really, they should have long ago switched to a cybernetic model, something sleek and metallic and run on vacuum pumps and produced by fine German engineering.

Rodney would take the BMW model over his own any day.

Because now that it was categorically an absolute impossibility that anything whatsoever had a minute _chance_ of developing between Sheppard and him, he found it was all he could think about. Almost literally. To the exclusion of his pet bedtime theories and favorite fantasies of Nobel Prize Award Ceremony speeches ( _"And on a personal note: up_ yours _, deGrasse Tyson!_ "), even when there was actual, critical work to be done, he would find himself contemplating John's mouth and the way it so rarely would open into a real smile; or, his look of almost-ecstasy as he flew the City from the chair, the taut arch of his body belied by the glow of satisfaction on his face; or, Rodney's personal favorite he returned to time and again, the concern implicit in the warm grip of John's hands on his shoulders when Rodney had sought him out when the parasite had him in a state of sheer, confused panic. The look on John's face then was nothing but care and, Rodney knew it, love.

John loved him. Rodney _knew_ that much empirically. However, Sheppard—Lt. Col. John Sheppard the strategist—had apparently given Rodney up as bad bet; a zero sum game. Not worth the risk.

And Rodney had to admit there was absolutely nothing he had done to deserve anything other than complete distrust in that area. The question was, how to prove to Sheppard that was no longer the case?

The morning after their aborted conversation on the pier, Sheppard was back to his normal, wisecracking, sarcastic self. He up and challenged Rodney and the rest of the science team to a networked match of StarCraft II, teaming the scientists versus military personnel. The marines ended up being the Terrans, of course, while the science team chose to be Protoss. No one wanted to be the squishy, organic Zerg because they reminded everyone too unpleasantly of the Wraith, so the computer took that role.

The battle was deadly and stretched over hours, the yells of fury and shouts of hilarity echoing over the special comm channels they'd set up.

"You bastard! Don't freaking kill me yet, I'm just getting my team growing," Sheppard yelled into their private channel when Rodney started an early blitz with a bare handful of Protoss warriors.

Rodney laughed maniacally but then squealed in dismay when most of his unit was obliterated by the perimeter mines John had set.

John snickered in his ear. "That'll learn ya."

"Impetuous waste of resources, Rodney," Zelenka chided next to him.

Rodney snarled, but inside he was gleeful. He hadn't had this much fun since...since the last time he'd played with John, actually.

In the end, the jarheads were no match for the geeks, in spite of Sheppard's superior strategizing—Rodney had to give him that. But winning the game was all about the quickest means of building the hierarchy of structures and weaponry, and the military men and women were having too damned much fun blowing things up to focus on the main purpose. They did almost have the geeks cornered away from the primary cache of resources at one point—all Sheppard's doing, of course—but the geeks overpowered their line and took the densest area of crystals back and then it was all over but for the mopping up.

Sheppard came over and conceded defeat gracefully with a twinkle in his eye, and handed over a crudely made trophy consisting of gigantic coffee mug with the words, "Bottomless Cup of Victory (good while supplies last)" sharpied in various colors on the side.

“Just don’t drink it all in one place, sport,” Sheppard said, and clapped Rodney on the shoulder once before loping out again.

:::

So, their friendship was back on an even keel. Rodney wasn't a fool—John had obviously engineered the whole thing, even to choosing a venue and a battle that would ensure Rodney as the primary victor, restoring his pride but without throwing the game. The science team had crowing rights, and it should have brought Rodney and John back to a time when their friendship was the easiest—back to when they'd been spending all their free time between real-life battles waging virtual war in the Game.

Clever, clever guy, that Sheppard. Too clever, because it had the unfortunate effect of reminding Rodney of one of the things he liked best about the man—there was way more going on under that cosmetologist's nightmare of cowlicks than anyone but Rodney suspected.

That's what Rodney loved about John. That's what Rodney loved about _them_ —that only he seemed to know it; that he was the only one John seemed comfortable knowing it. Everything about their relationship was the 9/10ths under the goddamned waterline, so if John thought this little exercise was supposed to set the clock back three years to comforting friendship, he was sadly mistaken.

:::

"How long does it take to break in a pair of real boots?" Rodney asked. "Because I have absolutely had it with requisitioning a new pair of hiking shoes every time you guys sucker me into visiting yet another Planet Dagoba."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch. Those things are Gore-Tex, genius. A quick rinse off when we get back and they'll be good as new." John wasn't even huffing a little bit, Rodney was disgruntled to note.

The disgusting sucking sounds continued as they tromped on. Even Teyla couldn't walk quietly, although somehow Ronon's footsteps suctioned a little less. Which was just impossible, since he weighed half again as much as Rodney and should be sinking that much deeper.

"God. Why would people want to live in a place like this?" Rodney asked, then bit his lip when Teyla gave him a speaking look. "Okay, okay, stupid question, and I don't ask many of them. What's the answer to pretty much every 'why' question in Pegasus?"

"'The Wraith'?" John answered in his 'no, duh' voice.

"Are we there yet?" Ronon asked, sounding atypically cranky and prompting a snort from John.

"Almost. The village is maybe another klick away according to the map," John said.

"And we're trusting him to navigate, why?"

"Because I'm the one who remembered to bring a compass, McKay."

Teyla broke in brightly, all peacekeeper-like, "I have never met the Keel'sha. I look forward to speaking to them on behalf of the Athosians."

Rodney tried hard not to feel resentful they were going on a mission that was mainly to benefit the Athosians, since it was a once-in-a-blue-moon concession Woolsey was making to Teyla, and that wasn't fair to her to begin with. And it wasn't like Atlantis wouldn't get something out of it as well. By opening trade for cuttings of the varieties of teas and the olive-like fruit the Athosians had lost when they'd been forced to abandon Athos, the Atlanteans would also get the benefit of any other seedlings Botany could get their hands on.

Not that Rodney cared much about studying xenoflora, but doing a little boon for his soft scientists could come up aces for him later when he needed supplies for manufacturing his hypoallergenic skin care products.

"Are we there, yet?"

:::

The extreme humidity of the swamp meant the map was growing pretty soggy and almost illegible, in spite of the fact the shopkeeper on Talnos had drawn it in blood on what looked to be a tiny deerskin.

So Rodney was pretty shocked when they broke through the trees onto solid ground and the edge of a clearing and what was obviously a thriving city right at John's approximated arrival time.

"Remarkable," Rodney commented, earning a dirty look from Sheppard.

A little girl, no more than eight or so, dressed in what looked like a linen tunic and pants, stumbled up short at their approach and yelled, "Strangers! Strangers, ho!" and went running back toward the town, her brown arms flashing against the white cloth. She hadn't sounded scared; more excited, but the team still fell into a defensive formation when some men and women returned from the gap between the buildings to look at them.

No one confronted them, and John led the way into a wide street between the buildings, then nodded at what looked like a courtyard and an impressive-looking central building with a dome that could serve as something of a city hall.

They hadn't quite reached it, though, before word must have spread; a small contingent of men and women were approaching, some of them armed. In the lead was maybe the most classically beautiful woman Rodney had ever laid eyes on—striking, almond-shaped eyes set against tan skin, long, black hair that flowed in tiny braids to her waist, and a swaying sort of walk that made the material of her tunic shift enticingly against her strong body. Around her neck was a single, heavy chain that looked significant; on it hung either a holy relic or a symbol of power. Rodney looked over and noticed that John looked absolutely floored, and grimaced to himself. Of course, Rodney was much more inclined toward blonds, himself, but he could see this particular woman, intelligent-looking, powerful, _brunette_ , was most definitely Sheppard's type.

Which meant they were all doomed, of course.

"Hello! Greetings. I'm Colonel Sheppard, and this is my team, Diplomatic Trade Liaison Teyla Emmagan of Athos, Specialist Ronon Dex, once of Sateda, and Dr. McKay, Chief Scientist. We're peaceful explorers in seek of trade."

Rodney bit his lip and slunk forward, fearing the absolute worst.

:::

Lashé Ossa and the rest of the Civil Service Council members that were available all gathered in a large, domed room to meet with the team and discuss possible trade. Ossa, apparently, was the president of the Council, but the role wasn't elected; rather a new President was chosen by lottery from the elected pool, so it was only a partially democratic process. It didn't sound terribly scientific to Rodney, but then politics weren't ever, as far as he could tell.

“We heard the sad news of Sateda, of course, and were devastated. We’ve always found their form of representative government to be most impressive,” Ossa said, turning toward Ronon.

And then, to Rodney’s utter shock, Sheppard stepped back and nudged Ronon forward. “I’m sure Ronon would like to tell you all about it.”

Ronon’s face turned grave and stiff, but Teyla gave him a subtle push and he opened up enough to bow his thanks and talk to her a little bit about the Satedan branches of government.

“Please, you must call me Lashé,” Ossa said after a little bit, “for we have always considered Sateda a sister society.”

Ronon actually _blushed_.

Eventually, Lashé asked someone to bring them all refreshments and they settled down for the real haggling. It turned out they were a lot more technologically advanced than anticipated, so in addition to the cuttings and the other biologicals, Teyla eagerly started trading for manufactured goods. It was right around then when Sheppard wandered a little too close to one of the wall sconces near the back of the room and it suddenly lit up, making a panel retract and exposing a screen.

Instead of everyone gasping in surprise at the strange behavior of their wall decorations, Lashé simply broke away from speaking to Ronon and Teyla and commented, "I see you are descended from the Ancestors, Colonel Sheppard."

"Uh, yeah?" John hastily swiped his hand over the sconce, sliding the panel back.

"We have a few old appliances in this building dating back to that time, but very rare are the Descendants, so we have developed our own technologies to replace them."

"We, too, have some technologies that you might find useful; especially in the manufacturing of medical supplies, such as antibiotics, for treating infections," Teyla segued smoothly, shooting Rodney a warning look. It might be because Rodney had already whipped out his scanner at Lashé's words. The energy signatures were all low-level stuff, though, so he quickly lost interest.

"Perhaps we might include such medical supplies in the trades." Lashé bowed her head.

After way too many hours of boring discussion, the crowd broke up for a short recess, and the whole team made the half-hour trek to the Gate to report in. Rodney tried to bow out of the hike, but Sheppard didn't want to break up the team, in spite of the apparent friendliness of the Keel'sha.

"This looks promising," Teyla said. "They have many wares they produce with raw materials through the use of machines. They can provide much to the Athosian and even to our specifications, in addition to the cuttings of our old favorites."

"That's cool, Teyla," John said. "We'll have Chuck patch you through to Halling so you can talk specifics."

"Thank you, John." She tilted him a wry smile. "He'll be pleased to find the Atlanteans suddenly so...accommodating."

Sheppard grimaced in apology.

"The Keel'sha have some stuff Atlantis could use, too," Ronon said gruffly. "The lab guys were complaining about running out of beakers the other day in the mess. That stuff takes up too much room to ship in on the _Daedalus._ Also, they keep breaking most of it."

"I doubt the Keel’shan glass manufacturing process is that exacting," Rodney put in. He could swear he had at least ten pounds of mud now caked on each boot.

"I asked. Their scientists are real sticks up the butt too."

John snorted.

"Hey, then I wonder if they make any light-weight, waterproof boots."

They tromped to the Gate, reported in, and returned with the particulars on the negotiations. More talk-talk-talking ensued, and at one point John and Rodney both escaped to 'walk the perimeter,' which really meant, 'get the heck out of Dodge before we die of boredom.' They kept in radio contact and stayed close to the city to avoid getting mired in the swamp. Unfortunately for Rodney, night was beginning to fall, and the temperature had dropped significantly. He started shivering and pulled his fleece jacket from his pack, but it didn't seem to do much good. John chivvied him on, telling him walking faster would help, but all that did was make him hungry _and_ miserably cold.

“Here,” John said, taking off his pack and rummaging through it. “Brought these just in case.” He passed Rodney a pair of fuzzy fleece gloves. They were incredibly soft, and just a little bit too big, and Rodney stammered his thanks.

“Think you can hang on until dinner, or do you want a Powerbar?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine I suppose.” Then, at John’s doubtful look, Rodney continued, “No, really, I’m good for now.”

John gave him a quick smile and then swung his pack back on, nearly knocking Rodney back off his feet.

“Hey!”

“Oops.” The look Sheppard shot him was pure mischief, and if Rodney weren’t disgusted at the thought of getting cold, slimy mud on his clean, warm gloves, he would have pelted Sheppard with a mud ball.

They resumed their walk.

Eventually, Teyla took pity on them both and told them the negotiations were over. When they returned, the Keel'shan clerks guided them back into a crowded dining hall where the Council appeared to be joined by their spouses and children and extended families. It didn't look to be so much a formal feast as a regular communal dinner.

The entire team stowed their packs and P-90s and joined Lashé at the central table, where places had been saved for the four of them.

"I would like you to meet my sister, Juleé, and my mate, Samuul, and my sons, Rakish and Daul."

Ronon's face fell at the sight of Samuul, but he gamely greeted everyone, and the rest of the team did the same. Rodney was stuck between Ronon and Teyla, but John, he noticed, was seated beside the sister, Juleé, who was a slightly younger, sadder-looking version of Lashé. There was just something about her eyes.

 _Here we go again,_ thought Rodney, and it wasn't fair, really, because if there was a soft spot John had for beautiful priestess-wannabes, it was probably superseded by damsels-in-distress. And now that they were done with the negotiations, and the Councilwoman's sister wasn't in any sort of position to obtain concessions from John, John was free to do what he wanted.

With whomever he wished.

Rodney had the same option, of course, but had no desire to anymore, now that he couldn't have John. Maybe it had been that way for John, when Rodney was with Jennifer.

Oh. That was a terrible thought. He couldn't think that thought; much better to think how he would go about getting John—he really would. All he had to do was _prove_ to John he rightly belonged with Rodney. And Rodney was, after all, a scientist.

Suddenly it was clear as day. John might _think_ he could be with other people, but he had yet to come up against an unstoppable proof fashioned by Rodney's intellect—

"Please!"

The word, urgent but soft, interrupted Rodney's musings, and he looked up from his stew-thing—some sort of vegetables and meat in a bright yellow sauce—to see the woman with John place her hand on John's wrist. They were leaning with their heads together, and John suddenly raised his head and caught Rodney's eye. Rodney bit back a surge of outrage.

John gave a subtle shake of his head and turned back to the woman—Rodney was helpless to remember her name all of a sudden—who kept speaking urgently to John, louder now.

"Juleé, are you troubling our guest?" Lashé's voice rang clear over the hubbub at the table.

"Sister," Juleé sounded distressed, "I merely asked him, since he is a Descended, if he might help me with the Sorrow Machine."

"Oh, Juleé."

"It is not forbidden," Juleé said stubbornly. "Nor is it harmful. Many have used it in the past, when there were Descendeds still skilled in its use."

"And how do you know Colonel Sheppard is one such? He probably has never seen its like before." Lashé's voice was kind, as if she didn't want to disappoint her sister.

"What is this device?" Teyla asked, her voice a little sharp. Rodney didn't blame her; they'd gotten into trouble a few times too many with unknown devices off-world.

Lashé sighed. "It is a healing machine. It is said to remove one's greatest sorrow without removing the memory. My sister has suffered a terrible tragedy in her recent past and wishes to erase that pain. But no one here has the skill to use the Machine anymore. It has been many decades since it has been used."

"I wish to try. If there is any chance," Juleé said. "Would you?"

John looked helplessly over at Teyla, avoiding Rodney's glare, but Rodney responded, "How do we know it won't act on the Colonel instead?"

Lashé responded slowly, "Well, it is for healers. In the documents, the healer uses it on the patient, touching it to their heads, here," Lashé pressed her fingers to her temple. "But, of course, we haven't seen it used ourselves. And we have no idea if the Colonel—"

"Sure. I'll give it a shot—"

"Sheppard!"

" _Rod_ ney. You know I'm good with this stuff. And you can hook your tablet up to it first, give it a diagnostic. C'mon, what do you say?"

Rodney looked over at Juleé, who seemed to realize he was the one casting the deciding vote, because she gazed at him pleadingly, her doleful eyes bright. "I lost...I lost my husband, Dr. McKay. He was working in the factory when a transformer overloaded. He knew there would be a terrible explosion if he didn't reach the switch. He died shutting down the power, so that the others on his crew might live."

Rodney's heart squeezed.

"I want to remember him with joy, not with pain. Not with constant a-anger and grief—"

"All right. All right, yes. Yes, we'll _look_ at the device after dinner." Anything to stop her, because he could imagine—really, it was all too easy to imagine what she was feeling. He'd been all too close to her reality far too many times.

Far too many times.

:::

The device itself looked like nothing so much as an oversized hand-held Wraith stunner, except out of Ancient materials, and Rodney looked at it, then at John, and they both shared a silent, _What the hell?_ communication that was almost amusing. Rodney carefully attached his probes without physically touching the device itself, and then pulled up his diagnostic tool.

Unfortunately, he couldn't get much of a read except to say the power-source was still active and its circuits were green. In other words, it wasn't broken. But as to its actual purpose and whether it would act on the user as soon as it was touched? Rodney hadn't a clue.

He looked at John and then pulled him aside.

"Look. I have no idea if this thing is going to blast _your_ brain the second you touch it. Are you sure you want to go through with this? I mean, what if it decides to zap your memories? What then, huh?"

"You mean, what if it zeroes out my biggest sorrow?" John smirked at him, but it didn't reach his eyes. Not at all.

 _Oh._ No, that wasn't possible. Rodney couldn't imagine being anyone's biggest sorrow. Not even for Terrence Finklemeyer, the Second Assistant Lab Monkey Rodney had kept as bottle washer and blow-job partner in Siberia for two years.

"Yes. I mean exactly that," Rodney said, staring at John's right boot top. There was a fleck of mud on top, but otherwise they looked clean, which just boggled Rodney's mind. How had the guy cleaned the swamp mud off his boots before dinner?

"Well, I guess that's a risk I'll have to take." John turned back to where Lashé, Juleé and the resident Ancestors' tech expert were waiting. "I'm just going to touch it to see if I can get a feel for the device," John said, and without waiting for Rodney's okay, picked it up by the handle.

There was a moment when it stayed dark and Rodney almost hoped—beyond all reason—that for the first time in John's career he'd encountered a piece of Ancient tech that had stumped him. But a second later the thing rippled with blue and amber colored lights, and then settled into a hum. John frowned, and then the crinkle smoothed and he nodded.

"I think I get it," he said. "Only, this isn't about sorrows. This is about trauma. This is an anti-PTSD device." He put it down and it shut off. Then he turned to Juleé. "I'm sorry, Juleé, but I don't think this is going to help you as much as you think. Do you know what trauma is? When the body or mind suffers damage from a single, terrible event?"

"Yesss?" Juleé looked doubtfully over to Lashé. "Why won't this help me?"

John gestured, "Because this device was designed for people who have been traumatized by an event, not for people who are suffering from grief. You're feeling the grief resulting from a trauma, yeah, but the most this will do is take away the impact of that moment when you learned of the accident; you'll still have to suffer the loss of your husband. Nothing can help you with that but time. I'm sorry."

"Oh." Juleé's eyes filled with tears.

"I can still try it, though. It might help some."

Juleé nodded and started to settle herself on the exam table, Lashé making soothing noises by her side.

"John."

John turned but wouldn't look at Rodney for a second, as if he knew what Rodney was going to say.

"This...you could use this." Rodney swallowed. "For the thing with being fed on by Todd because of Kolya. Jesus, and for the Iratus attack. For so many things—"

"Rodney," John looked back in warning and whispered, "It's not for me. I don't need it."

"Oh, fer—you'd still _remember_. It doesn't take the memory, just the impact! Why should you keep that? Do you like having nightmares? Do you like waking us all up in the tent at three a.m. gasping in a sweat—"

"Jesus, would you _shut it!_ " John turned to the table and grabbed the device, which made that same powering up sound, the lights flashing along its side.

"Okay, Juleé, I don't know if you'll feel anything or not. The device doesn't tell me that. Try to relax." Holding it up to her temple, John closed his eyes; it looked for all the world like he was about to shoot her in the head, and Rodney shivered a little. Nothing seemed to happen for a long moment, and then John moved his finger and the lights flashed a little, and Juleé sighed out slowly, and that was it. She opened her eyes; they seemed a little bit easier, a little more peaceful, but there was still the underlying sorrow, and Rodney knew there were no quick fixes; no easy cure for her deepest sadness.

John knew it too; Rodney could tell, and he put the device down heavily and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Thank you, Colonel Sheppard," Lashé said when Juleé nodded but didn't speak.

"No problem. Listen, can someone show us to our quarters? Rodney and I are pretty beat. Tired, I mean," John said when Juleé frowned prettily.

"Yes, of course. But first," Lashé looked at the scientist, and he nodded, "Pasaal has agreed that the Sorrow Machine serves no purpose without a skilled Descendant to utilize it. And I think, in light of what you have told us, since it is not even for the purpose of easing sorrow, we can freely gift it to you to solidify our trade agreement. Perhaps you might find better use for it on your world."

"Wow. That's, uh, that's really nice of you guys. Are you sure?"

Lashé smiled. "It's been over forty years, Colonel Sheppard. If there were likely to be anyone born with the skill, I think they would have made themselves known by now."

Rodney had to agree. Someone with an expression of the gene as strong as Sheppard's showed up maybe once or twice a generation on Earth, where the gene was more prevalent than in Pegasus.

"Well, many thanks," John said awkwardly, and picked up the device. "We'll make good use of it. And if there's anyone here who can use treatment, I can arrange to bring it back during trading times."

"That would be wonderful." Lashé smiled brilliantly, putting her hand on his arm, and John looked a little stunned. Rodney reached out and tapped his shoulder in a subtle reminder; it had been a long day, with far too many hikes in swamps for his satisfaction.

"Right. Sack time. Uh, quarters?"

"I'll show you to the guest house."

:::

Lashé wasn't kidding about the 'house.' The team had an entire structure to themselves. They found Ronon and Teyla there, with a fire roaring in the main sitting room. There was a kitchen, as well, and Ronon had taken it over and was preparing hot water for tea when Rodney and John came in. Ronon was a nut for his evening tea.

"Please tell me you've got enough water in there for hot cocoa, too," Rodney said. "Because my feet are freezing. And I need out of these boots. I've been carrying twenty pounds of muck all day, and for all I know it's poisonous swamp muck that will give me an incurable alien foot fungus."

"Nice, McKay."

"How went it with the Sorrow Machine, John?" Teyla looked up from where she was rummaging through her pack.

Rodney answered for him. "It's not a Sorrow Machine. Apparently it's for treating Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"I couldn't really help her," John said. "Lashé ended up giving it to us as a seal-the-deal trading gift." He waved his pack. "Hey, which room is mine?"

"Ronon and I have taken the rooms by the front door."

"No fair," John whined.

"We saved you the only room with a window," Teyla said graciously, "so you will still be part of the defensive perimeter."

"Cool, thanks."

"Oh, and what about me?"

"You're the soft and squishy middle," John said, disappearing with his pack into the furthest room from the entrance.

"Water's ready," Ronon yelled from the kitchen area, cutting off Rodney's retort.

In spite of his ire, Rodney made a cup of cocoa for Sheppard, knowing how much he hated tea. Rodney even saved him some miniature marshmallows, although he kept the lion's share for himself. John thanked him with a grin and a nod and sipped it slowly by the fire, his socked feet propped up on the hearth. Rodney hauled off his own boots with a groan and then happily toasted his toes, ignoring the complaints from his teammates about his 'swamp foot'.

"Why, yes. There being a _swamp_ surrounding the area through which you made me tramp all day long, it should hardly come as a tremendous shock," Rodney responded archly. "Now shut up and drink your damned cocoa."

"Yes, sir, Dr. McKay, sir," John said.

"Are we going to talk about the PTSD device?"

"Nope."

"Or the fact it could benefit soldiers and marines and airmen and scientists who've been in horrifying situations?"

"Well, yeah. Okay, that," John pointed a finger at him.

"Including one who happens to be in this room?"

John rolled his eyes at Rodney over the rim of his cocoa. "I don't have PTSD."

"What is this?" Teyla was sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, the flames making her hair look like burnished copper.

John drawled, "But, sorry if I'm interfering in your nap-time."

"That is so not it, and don't even pretend this is about me kicking up a fuss about that."

John emptied his cup and set it down on the mantel. "It’s nice of you to worry, but a couple of nightmares aren't PTSD, Rodney. Believe me, it's a serious condition, and I would ask for treatment if I were having those kinds of problems. I wouldn’t mess around. So, I'm glad we'll have a new way to help people in service, but I don't need it." He stood up. "Good night, everyone. I'll take second watch." And with that, John slouched off to his room, almost like he was inviting Rodney to talk about him behind his back.

Or at least he must have known that would be a consequence, because both Ronon and Teyla were staring at Rodney now with eyebrows raised, and Rodney shrugged helplessly, waiting to hear John's door close and the sound of him using the facilities before leaning forward and saying, "The device. It helps remove the impact of bad experiences. So maybe some people won't have nightmares about being fed on by a Wraith? Or sucked on by a giant bug? Or turning _into_ one?"

"Oh, _Rodney_." Teyla frowned at him so fiercely her upper lip almost curled into a pout. "You did _not_ suggest that to John, I hope. Not because he was disturbing us on overnights?"

"No! Not because he was—" Rodney whispered fiercely, "because he's hurting _himself_ with that crap! That's the whole point of the device! To make it stop hurting him!"

"But that is _life_ , Rodney! Life hurts us! We are not machines, with mechanical parts. If he does not wish to be healed in this manner, it is his choice.” Her voice grew softer. “Sometimes, some things cannot be fixed with the wave of a hand."

Rodney could see Ronon nodding in his peripheral vision, and it hurt somehow that he was agreeing with her. Ronon, whose back Rodney had healed.

"Life writes its lessons on us. They can be useful," Ronon said.

"You!" Rodney pointed at him. "I healed your back!"

Ronon shrugged. "That was physical. Helps me move better in battle, not having the scar tissue in the way. Also, I'm prettier now." He grinned.

Rodney buried his face in his hands with a groan.

"Rodney," Teyla's soft hand still gentled his shoulder, "is John impaired by these memories? Do they stop him from enjoying his life, from doing his work? From having friends, or from being a good commander?"

"No. God, no. Of course not."

"Then if he wants to, it's his pain to keep. He paid for it in blood." Ronon sounded so sure that Rodney had to believe him. Even though it hurt so badly to think there was a _technical solution_ , right there, with no one reaching out to grasp it.

"Fine. Fine, fine, fine. I won't say anything more about it."

Teyla smiled in approval and sipped serenely at her tea.

"I'm going to bed," Rodney said grouchily, and Ronon clapped him on the back, then waited for Rodney to turn and head for his room before hurling Rodney's pack at him, so it skidded by his legs and through his doorway. "Thanks," Rodney said, not even having the energy to blow a raspberry.

He discovered he shared a washroom with Sheppard, so he tried to be quiet as he cleaned up, and then slid under the covers and the light, quilted comforter the Keel'sha had provided. Rodney thought it wouldn't be warm enough but it was stuffed with some synthetic insulating material that retained heat very well, and soon Rodney was toasty warm. He was exhausted and should have fallen asleep easily but he was still stuck in the same loop.

He'd promised he wouldn't say anything more about the device, except he wanted to. God, he wanted to, wanted to heal the trauma, and that was unreasonable, he knew. But somehow he wanted to heal John's heart.

 _Oh. Hello, world's stupidest genius._ Rodney growled and turned over to punch his pillow. Well, he couldn't give John a bionic heart, and neither could he heal the damage he'd done with the idiotic decision he'd made in choosing Jennifer. A decision, mind, that Rodney had made with legacy information encoded in his lonely, geek-styled bedroom while perusing Playboy at the tender age of thirteen. No, even that was a lie. He'd known. He'd known all along John was his back-up plan, the one thing he could rely upon, the one _person_ who would always be there, so why hadn't Rodney simply gone to him in the first place? In the dead silence of a strange place, while exhausted and pissed and laid open by the day's revelations, the answer came to him, popping out of the dark.

 _John knows me too well. He doesn't let me get away with anything. He's too_ close.

 _Oh, God._ Rodney growled loudly again, afterward stuffing his head fully underneath his pillow so he could cool the flush of heat burning his face. As a result, he almost didn't hear the tap on the connecting door.

"What?" He stuck out his face. "What is it?"

The door opened, and a spiky head leaned in, outlined in dim moonlight coming from the other room. "You sound like you're wrestling a bear in here."

Rodney's heart knocked hard against the wall of his chest. "No. Just myself."

"What's up?" John came in, a slim shadow in black and gray. Rodney was amazed he was even bothering, considering what a jerk Rodney'd been to him earlier. But then, John didn't hold onto a grudge very hard.

"I just figured something out." Rodney shifted until he was propped against the headboard.

John sat at the foot of his bed and tucked his feet up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Not sure you want to hear it, though."

"Hang on, let me get the light—"

"No!"

John's head tilted. "Ooo-kay?"

"This is better. And really, I should tell this—I wanted to prepare a whole thing, a presentation, with charts, and graph the equations, and just _show_ you why, but really, it's simple, it's so _simple_ , and stupid, really— _God_ , utterly stupid, infantile, I should be shot in the head, except you wouldn't do that, you're too good to me, but, John, really, I'm a moron of the highest order—"

"Hey. Hey, McKay." John's hand landed on his foot, patting it from over the covers. "Breathe occasionally. Like, every once in while."

"Yeah. Yeah. Breathing now." Rodney breathed for a moment, watching John's silhouette. He could make out the scruff of John's five o'clock shadow against his paler skin, and just the gleam of white of his eyes, but not really his expression. It was reassuring, somehow, only having his voice to go by. Finally, Rodney said, "The thing I was stupid about, the reason I didn't come to you before Jen—"

John's whole body straightened and he half-turned toward the door; Rodney knew he had about a second and a half before John bolted.

"—no, no, wait, listen!"

"We've been through this, Rodney." John's voice was rough. "I think I can get the concept of second choice."

"Oh. Oh. Oh, _no_. Really, _no_."

"Yeah. Listen, I'm—" John tensed.

"But I'm not finished—"

"But I'm plenty done."

Rodney lunged. "Please." He had the element of surprise, that was for sure, because he never could have accomplished it otherwise, but he had both arms locked around John's torso and one leg slung over John's before John could move an inch. "Please, let me just get it out. I know I'll never get another chance. I'll never bother you again, because I know I can't fix it, we don't have bionic hearts, with finely-engineered solid state parts and pieces that can be easily replaced, but sometimes, maybe if we just know there was a mistake made, a terrible mistake, if you just know _why_ I made it," John squirmed, but Rodney held on tighter, held on with all his might, "because it was so _stupid_ , John, it wasn't that you were second choice, it was me switching the order on _purpose_. It was because you challenge me. Because you _know_ me. Because you don't let me get away with anything and, God, you’re too close. And that terrified me. It was just too, too, _huge_ , so I took the coward's way out."

Rodney let go then, and backed away. "So, you see? I'm an asshole. Sorry. Really. Just...sorry?"

He was panting in the silence, but after a moment he realized John was breathing hard, too, and John hadn't been doing anything but sit there and listen, so that was a data point. Rodney could feel more words bubbling up, but he held his tongue, he held his tongue until he thought his chest would burst, and still nothing, just John sitting there, breathing a little more calmly but still stiff as a statue. _Oh, come_ on, Rodney wanted to shout. He'd never been this patient in his life, but he couldn't rush this. He _couldn't._

Finally John stirred and whispered, "I don't know."

"You don't...know."

"No, Rodney, I _don't._ " Sarcastic, this time. "What the hell am I supposed to say? I mean, it's great what you just said, but I also know what you did. For eight fucking months. Two minutes to say something versus eight months doing something else. See where I'm coming from?"

Rodney's heart deflated like a wimpy little balloon. "You're saying you can't forgive me."

John made an exasperated noise. "No. It's not about forgiving. Eight months is a long time to be making one mistake. I watched you that whole time, ever since you had that parasite thing and you told her you loved her; hell, you told _me_ you loved her, over and over again—maybe you should ask yourself what it's like to _feel that_ , for the next eight months, and then get back to me."

"You're pissed."

John sighed. "Yeah. Maybe I'm still a little pissed. But mostly, I don't believe you really know what you want. Because it still feels like coming in second. Tell me how you're supposed to fix that part by just talking about it. Tell me how I'm supposed to believe you."

Rodney laughed brokenly. Fucked. So totally fucked. "Maybe we can use the device. Remove the trauma."

John stood and walked over to the wall and flipped on the light switch. Rodney winced his eyes closed, and John said, "Sorry," and dimmed the light back down to a tolerable level. When Rodney could see again, John was standing by the bed with his arms crossed, shifting nervously in his socked feet.

"I was kidding. You didn't have to blind me," Rodney said. "I already talked to Ronon and Teyla and they convinced me to stop bugging you."

"Good."

"In answer to your question, I don't know how I'm supposed to convince you. Maybe it's like you told Juleé—maybe nothing can help but time. But, John," Rodney could hear himself pleading and he just didn't care, "if you don't give me the time, there's no chance for anything. Right? Is that what you want? Haven't I earned—I mean, outside of this—" he waved his hands, "—outside of anything, well, _romantic_ , surely, in our friendship, in our work, in our _lives_ —goddammit, John, you trust me, don't you?"

"Yeah. Of course." John's answer was rusty, but immediate. Thank God. They were over that old wound, at least.

"So?" Rodney held his breath.

"So, this isn't about trust, either. You know that."

"What? What? It is so! It is exactly—you don't trust me when I'm telling you the truth!"

And, oh, John's smile was the saddest Rodney had ever seen. "Rodney, for eight months you told me you were in love with Jennifer. Was that the truth?"

And if this wasn't the thing Rodney hated most about emotions, about soft sciences, about psychology and all the rotten rest of human social interaction, he didn't know what was. This was it, right here in a nutshell, because everyone always knew more about what he felt than he did. Everyone was already ten thousand steps ahead in every emotional crisis than he was, and now, when he needed to understand the most—right now when it was absolutely critical that he be at least _on par_ with John, he was lagging far behind.

"No, no, no, but I swear. I swear to _God_ , by all that I am, Sheppard, I had a fucking, a freaking _epiphany_ , a swamp epiphany, right here in the muck, and you have to believe me this time. This one single instant in time, please, take this leap of faith, in spite of it lacking all due logic and being without a single shred of proof or evidence or an iota of data. Please. Please."

John was looking at him like his head had fallen off and rolled across the floor and all that was left was a talking stump.

"Yes. Me. I, Dr. Rodney McKay, Ph.D., Ph.D., am hereby asking you, John Sheppard, to ignore the data. Believe in voodoo, in faeries, in pixies. The glass is half-full. The sun will come out tomorrow. _Throw me a hail Mary._ I'll catch it, John. I swear it."

And then Rodney saw it: an unwilling grin pulling at the edges of John's mouth, lighting the corners of his eyes. "McKay. Jesus, what the hell am I gonna do with you?" John let himself down on the side of Rodney's bed.

"Well, you can't get rid of me," Rodney said, his heart beating frantically.

"No, I suppose not. Somebody’s bound to notice."

"Then you will? Give it a shot?"

John sighed, his shoulders describing a dejected curve. Rodney didn't like it, not a bit.

"John..."

"It's all still talking, Rodney. Blah, blah, blah. I mean, you're really good at talking. But you were right, what you said about without no time, there's no chance."

"Then you'll try it? With me?"

"Let's see how it goes." John stood and gave him an amused, warning look. "Right now, though, I have to get two hours' sleep before my watch. So can you keep the bear noises to a minimum?"

Even with John smiling at him, it felt like a let down. Like Rodney hadn't really made any progress at all. But then, when he settled back under the quilt, John lingered near the head of the bed and pressed a hand to his shoulder, then hesitantly drew his fingertips, whisper-light, over Rodney's lips. Almost like a kiss.

Rodney's entire body woke up and paid attention.

"G'night, Rodney."

"Good night," Rodney whispered, staring up, burning the image of John's half-smile into his retinas.

And then John was gone.

:::

After they returned from P5V-698 laden with the Keel'sha's clippings and olive-things and a sampling of their textiles and glassware, Woolsey was so surprised by the bounty and the lack of bloodshed he gave them a day off. So the very first thing Rodney did was filch John's laptop and install PGP with AES 256-bit encryption keys so he and John could communicate with extreme security on Atlantis' personal mail network.

Then Rodney returned John's laptop to his quarters and sent him an email.  
``  
To: sheppardj@pegasusmail.net  
From: mckay_phd_phd@pegasusmail.net  
Subject: Thinking about it, per your request

`First of all, I have encrypted all our communications in both directions to the very limits of my own paranoia. So don't worry.`

`I've been thinking about it, and what I did, after I was sick--turning to Jennifer like that after you got me through the worst nightmare imaginable of slowly losing my cognitive abilities, was so awful of me. I'm so, so sorry, Sheppard. So very sorry.`

`-RM`

Sheppard's reply was snail slow in coming. Rodney told himself it was because John didn't read his email very often; which was true, but it gave Rodney some bad moments just the same.

``  
To: mckay_phd_phd@pegasusmail.net  
From: sheppardj@pegasusmail.net  
Subject: Re: Thinking about it, per your request

`McKay: groveling doesn't look good on you. cut it out.`

Rodney's fingers sped over the keys.

``  
To: sheppardj@pegasusmail.net  
From: mckay_phd_phd@pegasusmail.net  
Subject: Re: Thinking about it, per your request

`But I thought this was what you wanted? For me to think about things? Well, I'm thinking, damn it! That's what I'm good at!`

`-RM`

``  
To: mckay_phd_phd@pegasusmail.net  
From: sheppardj@pegasusmail.net  
Subject: Re: Thinking about it, per your request

`I told you to think about what it felt like. not to sit there apologizing like one of your lameass scientists. it's creepy. quit it.`

So, Rodney sat there and thought about it for a while, then typed a little more slowly this time, the words not coming as easily.

``  
To: sheppardj@pegasusmail.net  
From: mckay_phd_phd@pegasusmail.net  
Subject: Re: Thinking about it, per your request

`I suppose if you were facing your own personal nightmare--say, losing the ability to fly, slowly losing your sight, maybe, and I were there helping you through it every step of the way, keeping you from going insane with fear, and if at the very last minute someone swooped in and saved the day, and I were there too, holding your head while she did the eye surgery, and then you told her you loved her and went off with her, I might--God, I would be furious, I would be absolutely hurt and furious and I would put something smelly in your field locker that would explode when you opened it.`

`Does that cover it--is that what you mean?`

`-RM`

``  
To: mckay_phd_phd@pegasusmail.net  
From: sheppardj@pegasusmail.net  
Subject: Re: Thinking about it, per your request

`mostly. I went back to my quarters and slept for a week because you’d kept waking me up with your panic attacks. also, I was messed up. too tired to plan stink bombs.`

Rodney translated "tired" to "depressed" and sat staring at the screen for a moment, his fingers rubbing against each other obsessively. After a moment he replied:

``  
To: sheppardj@pegasusmail.net  
From: mckay_phd_phd@pegasusmail.net  
Subject: Re: Thinking about it, per your request

`and then? `

`-RM`

He hit Send/Receive obsessively until a reply appeared:

``  
To: mckay_phd_phd@pegasusmail.net  
From: sheppardj@pegasusmail.net  
Subject: Re: Thinking about it, per your request

`I saw which way things were headed. when you kept taking off to go help her instead of hanging out with me.`

Rodney winced.

``  
To: sheppardj@pegasusmail.net  
From: mckay_phd_phd@pegasusmail.net  
Subject: Re: Thinking about it, per your request

`I thought I explained that. God, John, when I was falling to pieces, you held me together. Do you have any idea how terrifying that is? When you discover there is one person in the world who can hold you safe while everything else is a giant obliterating void of fear? `

``  
To: mckay_phd_phd@pegasusmail.net  
From: sheppardj@pegasusmail.net  
Subject: Re: Thinking about it, per your request

`I might know something about that. but you're losing track. stay focused.`

Rodney groaned and responded quickly:

``  
To: sheppardj@pegasusmail.net  
From: mckay_phd_phd@pegasusmail.net  
Subject: Re: Thinking about it, per your request

`Right, right. This would go much better in chat, you know. Pull up the application I installed and click "okay" when it asks you to accept my RSA token, so we have encryption.`

``  
To: mckay_phd_phd@pegasusmail.net  
From: sheppardj@pegasusmail.net  
Subject: Re: Thinking about it, per your request

`you're being real careful about this stuff. thanks.`

It took a few minutes, which Rodney attributed to John's utter incompetency to all things computer-related, but then he finally got a response to his request to add "dangerBoy" to his contact list.  
``  
dangerBoy: ha. thanks for the cool name.  
theDoctor: That's supposed to be an insult. And a reprimand.  
dangerBoy: whatevr.  
theDoctor: So...I'm staying focused. I went off and started spending my free days with Jen instead of where traditionally I had--scratch that. What if you went off and started spending all your free time with Teyla instead of me.  
dangerBoy: Dr. Murakami asked me out.  
theDoctor: she did NOT  
dangerBoy: she did.  
theDoctor: That's...very forward for her culture.  
dangerBoy: she offered to cut my hair and it needed it so I thought what the helll  
theDoctor: !!!  
dangerBoy: and afterward she said it looked too nice not to take it out on the town. so we went out. took one of the jumpers to the mainland and had a very nice time...  
theDoctor: wait, this already happened? when??  
dangerBoy: back when you were disappearing into Keller-ville.

Rodney saw red. For a moment, a flash, he literally _saw red_ appearing on his screen.  
``  
dangerBoy: yo, Rodney.  
dangerBoy: yo. hey.  
theDoctor: I'm here.  
dangerBoy: I was lying about the date. altho she did play with my hair way too long while she was cutting it.

Rodney let out his breath.  
``  
theDoctor: Nice. You really had me going.  
dangerBoy: that's the whole point.  
theDoctor: Yes, yes, I know. Well, I just felt it. Really. I hated it. Don't do it again, okay? No going out with other people.

There was a long pause. Rodney chewed on a hangnail.  
``  
dangerBoy: that goes for you too.  
theDoctor: Needless to say  
dangerBoy: oh right. needless.  
theDoctor: NEEDLESS TO SAY.  
dangerBoy: say it anyway. as a big favor.  
theDoctor: You're it for me, John. I swear to God. Even if I have to wait a ridiculous amount of time. I thought I made that clear yesterday, but if I didn't, please hear me now.  
dangerBoy: I hear you. same here. 

Rodney's fingers were trembling when he brushed them across the screen.  
``  
dangerBoy: #1 with a bullet, worst moments  
dangerBoy: when we came back to Earth. hearing what you said when we finally all got together afterward.  
theDoctor: I don't even remember.  
dangerBoy: what? you're kidding  
theDoctor: I honestly don't.  
dangerBoy: forget this  
theDoctor: JOhn, please  
dangerBoy: I'm laying it all out here and you're not even trying  
theDoctor: Maybe I don't remember because it wasn't important.  
dangerBoy: right. or. screw this.  
theDoctor: I'm coming to your room.  
dangerBoy: NO. okay!

Rodney waited. The edge of his cuticle was red now, but he couldn’t stop worrying at it.  
``  
dangerBoy: so....we'd all just nearly died. for the first time I wasn't alone doing the suicide run.  
dangerBoy: you don't even know why that's like a kick in the head.  
dangerBoy: I came out onto the balcony where you guys were and you barely looked over.  
dangerBoy: she asked you if you were okay and you said you were alive. and that you had her...  
dangerBoy: so what else did you need?

Rodney stared at the screen, his eyes burning. What else did he need? He'd actually said that?  
``  
theDoctor: I can't believe I said that. I just can't believe I said that, John. I do need you, I do  
dangerBoy: there were plenty of days after that when you weren't around, mckay. so that's bull.  
dangerBoy: but people don't need each other, anyway. I've never believed that.  
theDoctor: I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t  
dangerBoy: it's good not to need people. it's better just to like having them around. that way, when they fuck off, you can handle it.  
theDoctor: is that what you did? you decided you didn't need me?  
dangerBoy: I always need you when there's trouble. other times, I couldn't let myself . now I don’t know. fuck.  
  
Rodney's chest ached so hard he thought there was something physically wrong for a moment; that he might need that bionic transplant after all.  
``  
dangerBoy: mckay?  
  
Standing took an effort of will, but once he was on his feet, it was easier. All he had to do was get to the door and down the hall, the path familiar to him from the nightmare journeys when his brain was sick, when he staggered in pajamas pants, drooling for all he knew, with one thought on his mind: _John, John, John._

He'd needed John then. Maybe he didn't in the same way any longer, but he _wanted_ to. More than that, though, he wanted John to want him to.

Rodney knocked until he pounded, and the door swished open and John yanked him in, an impatient look on his face.

"Well, you've probably just undone all that work being careful—" John closed the door behind him.

"I-I don't want you to just like having me around. And I want to need you, if I can. John," Rodney clutched at his shirt—it was the one with the crazy panda head on it, he saw with a start, and he carefully unwrapped his fingers, not wanting to damage it. He was fond of this shirt. Rodney stroked it with his fingers absently, noting the crinkle of chest hair beneath, and the bunching of pectoral muscles. He slid his hands up to John's shoulders and grasped him more firmly.

"Rodney?" John's voice broke. "What are you—?"

"I keep talking but I never said, I never said 'I love you', John. But I _do_." And then Rodney didn't see the point in talking anymore, because John was right—words were just words. Less meaningful than actions. He pulled John closer, past the little bit of a resistance, and then miracle of miracles, John met him half-way, bent toward him, whispering, "Rodney. Please. Don't be fucking with—" and his lips parted, that mouth Rodney had dreamed wet dreams about, and Rodney whimpered as they kissed, finally. Finally.

He thought his heart, his plain, old, ordinary human heart wouldn't be able to take it, it was beating so frantically in his chest. He felt the pressure of John's hands tightening on his arms as the kiss deepened, as John's tongue meshed with his, as John nudged against him, hardening against his thigh, and all the pain and waiting and longing compressed and then shattered into a boundless, inarticulate joy that had Rodney practically climbing into John's arms. "Yes, yes, yes," Rodney chanted into John's mouth, against his cheek, along the side of his jaw, and John panted something back that sounded like _Wanted this_ and _Please, Rodney,_ and maybe even the formula for a ZPM, Rodney could care less at that point, all he cared about was it wasn't _no_ or _stop_ or _I’ll never forgive you._

They ended up tangled together on John's puny mattress, clothing in complete disarray. Rodney had his hands shoved halfway up John's back underneath his T-shirt, and John had his fingers stuffed down the back of Rodney's unfastened pants. And still they kissed; Rodney couldn't seem to stop. His mouth felt rough and swollen from John's stubble, from John sucking on his lower lip. Grinding down, Rodney found a hot, sweet pocket of bare skin to push his cock against, and he gasped, and groaned, and rocked and rocked, and when John slid his sly fingers down Rodney's crack and brushed against his asshole, Rodney gave it up for lost and came his brains out.

"Wahg." He rolled to the side and almost fell off the bed; if John hadn't grabbed his shirt, it would have been a minor catastrophe.

"Watch it." John sounded relaxed. It was great to hear him like that, after so many months of guarded communication between them. Rodney planted a kiss on his jaw, and then another on his neck just above the collar of his panda shirt. Then he sat up and pushed the T-shirt up around around John's armpits so he could get at John's nipples.

"Hey! Watch the shirt!"

"Relax. I didn't even get come on it."

"You better not've." But John sounded distracted; no surprise since Rodney was rubbing his thumbs over John's nipples and nipping kisses downward until he could take John's cock in his fist, until he could suck him in and make him shudder and twist and arch, eyes gleaming down at Rodney with animal hunger and yes, need. John needed him to do this, and Rodney sucked and tongued him and then fucked his throat down onto John's cock until John held his breath and jerked in his mouth, his fingers twitching on Rodney's shoulder.

"Jesus! Christ, Rodney!"

Rodney smiled smugly and swallowed, then flicked out his tongue to catch the final drops flecking the corner of his mouth. John was staring down at him, his face flushed so his eyes were greener than Rodney had ever seen them. Rodney crawled carefully up to slot himself beside him and kiss him, and John slid his hand around him to support him and hold him close.

"Does this mean you're ready to give it a try?" Rodney asked, trying to keep the hopefulness out of his voice.

"Yeah. _Maybe_ ," John said, but he sounded way too winded to pull off nonchalant, and Rodney felt a thrill of relief.

"I guess, though, it would be dangerous for me to stay here tonight."

John's arm tightened around his back.

"Unless...you want me to?"

"Not a good idea, no. It's too early for a nap, anyway."

"Maybe just for a little while then? We could talk?"

John gave a dry chuckle. "Don't you think we've talked enough? God, I don't think I talked this much during my entire _marriage_."

 _And see how that turned out_ , Rodney most carefully did _not_ say.

"But I guess that didn't turn out so well," John said a second later. "So, go. Give it to me."

"Oh. Um." Shock held Rodney's tongue silent for a moment, then he blurted, "You really held me to the coals."

John craned his neck to look at him and raised an eyebrow. "That a problem?"

"Well, no, of course not. I'm quite happy with the outcome." Rodney coughed. "It's just—there is this one thing..."

His warm, comfortable headrest suddenly disappeared when John slid from Rodney's arms and sat up on one hip, taking the pillow with him and stuffing it against the top of the bed. Rodney had to scramble to sit next to him, and suddenly they were in their movie-watching positions, only there was no movie to watch, just Rodney's sticky boxers, his limp dick semi-hanging out. He pulled up his pants and zipped up, and John did the same.

"So, what's on your mind?" John put one foot up on the bed and propped his elbow on his knee.

"I just wondered why it appears the onus was all on me to begin with that you and I never, well—" he waved between them, "did this?"

John's jaw dropped. "You wanted me to—Rodney, maybe _you_ knew, but I didn't think I had a shot. I thought you were completely _straight_. Jesus, you couldn't stop talking about blond Colonel Carter or flirting with every woman with big tits we ran across. Not to mention your thing with Katie Brown first."

"So? So what? You could have at least asked me in between—"

"Yeah, and take the chance of getting kicked out of Atlantis? Don't take this the wrong way, buddy, but you don't exactly react well to new and upsetting information. You kind of freak out. In stereo. It's not a subtle thing."

"That's not fair." Or maybe not totally. Anyway, it stung.

"Okay, yeah, maybe not," John said, looking sheepish. "Maybe I thought you'd get weird knowing how badly I wanted you. God, I had it so bad."

"Past tense," Rodney said flatly.

John closed his eyes. When he opened them again—God, talk about no fair. No fair at all, because Rodney could see it, really see it, and there was no past tense there. But Rodney blinked, and it was gone again, and John was looking away, his jaw clenched.

"Okay," Rodney said softly. "I just—I don't know how you didn't _know_ ," he said helplessly.

"Sometimes I thought maybe—but then I figured it was just wishful thinking. Hell, maybe I was being a wimp." His voice broke a little. “Maybe I didn’t want to believe it was true because, like you said, it was too huge.” John looked at him. "I still don't know how you _knew_."

"John. I repeatedly woke you up at three a.m. crying because I couldn't remember how to calculate pi, and you never turned me away. You convinced Wallace to feed himself to a _Wraith_ for me."

John blinked.

"You can't tell me that's all disappeared in _eight months_ ," Rodney said cautiously.

It was always amazing to him how fast John could move when he wanted to. For a man who pretended to laziness ninety percent of the time, the other ten he proved the exception with alacrity. In this case, before Rodney could speak, John was halfway across the room and heading into the bathroom to wash his hands in the sink. Rodney rose slowly to follow him.

"Old 'give him a micrometer' McKay," John said roughly after a moment.

"I'll have you know I'm a generous more than—"

John gestured with a wet finger, and Rodney smiled a little.

"You'd have to know I'd push it." He came over to stand by John's shoulder.

"Yeah," John said ruefully. "A little fucking far. So, how are we doing this?"

Rodney pondered the options. John was still too skittish, and no way was Rodney losing his new ground. Maybe a change in venue. "You have any beer?"

John gave him a surprised look, then went to his mini-fridge and pulled out a six-pack of cans that read _Back in Black_.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Well, doesn't that seem just like your style. Come on. Let's go out to the pier, Johnny." That got him a genuine smile, and John threw him his jacket and grabbed his own.

Out on the pier, the second blue dwarf was just setting. It gave Rodney a shiver of remembrance, and he pulled his jacket tighter around himself.

John cracked open a couple of beers and handed him one, then settled back on one hand, his leg swinging lazily over the edge.

"Nice evening," he said.

The beer was really, really dark, and smooth and bitter like chocolate. Rodney held up the can to try to read where it was made, and John smirked.

"Brewed in Minnesota, in the good ol' U.S. of A., McKay."

Rodney cursed silently, but took another long, tasty drink.

"It's taken us a long time to come back here," he said after a moment.

"Yeah. Missed it."

Rodney smiled. Concise. That was Sheppard.

"And, no, Rodney, it doesn't."

"Doesn't what?"

John shifted a little, looking uncomfortable. But it brought them closer together, so their elbows bumped, their thighs meeting with each swing of his leg.

"No, it doesn't just disappear. Maybe it gets buried some under the crap. But, no. It...didn't." And now their arms weren't just bumping, but touching, crossing warm all along their lengths, with John's palm resting beside his and within the gap made by Rodney's body.

It was a tentative, small thing, not anything anyone would notice from afar, but it warmed Rodney right through his jacket. He wasn't shivering anymore.

And his human heart pumped steadily, matching the waves pounding ceaselessly against the pier.

 

_End._  


  
[](http://esteefee.livejournal.com/45268.html?mode=reply)  
**(Comment on my LJ)**

A/N: Re: John's nightmares and PTSD, I am in no way trying to make light of any issues John might have from his traumatic experiences, or the terrible impact PTSD has on people's lives, and I hope that comes through in the story. I think, if anything, I was just trying to make a point that there are not usually any quick fixes, and that Rodney's hope that there could be was overriding his respect for John's wishes.

A/N: [StarCraft II: Wings of Liberty](http://us.battle.net/sc2/en/game/guide/whats-sc2) is a total gas. Of _course_ the Marines would be [the scrappy Terrans](http://us.battle.net/sc2/en/game/race/terran/) and the scientists [the ancient and powerful Protoss](http://us.battle.net/sc2/en/game/race/protoss/) and no one, _no one_ would want to be [the disgusting Zerg.](http://us.battle.net/sc2/en/game/race/zerg/) (except me, apparently.)

Re: Gore-Tex hiking shoes, I wore a pair that looked and felt practically like high tops when I went spelunking, and came out of the caves with cement overshoes of mud. Five minutes under the faucet later they looked like new. Wacky.


End file.
